


May (the) Flower Bloom

by callmecloudybutdontreally



Series: CountryHumans [2]
Category: CountryHumans
Genre: BOSTON TEA, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Why Did I Write This?, delicious, helicopters out, idk what im writing at this point, mmm, no beta we die like men, one of the seven world wonders, that is a question that may never be answered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmecloudybutdontreally/pseuds/callmecloudybutdontreally
Summary: “It’s cold,” Hampshire whined, pulling close to York. “Colder than at home.”The ship swayed again, York nearly fell over like the small children and some of the women. His stomach lurched, but he didn’t dare throw up — not on the ship’s deck, anyways. The captain wouldn’t spare a glance at his sea sickness while he was made to clean the deck, instead focus more on his wife and children. Not the colony where he would be living, not the father of the colony, and definitely not any of the fights that the Carolinas would undoubtedly pick against Virginia. Not that Virginia couldn’t handle himself — he was worried more for the twins, if he was being honest.“I know,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around his sister.
Relationships: England & Ireland (Hetalia), England & Scotland (Hetalia), France/Ireland (Hetalia), France/Scotland (Hetalia), Ireland & Scotland (Hetalia), Yeah, i am not listing them, oh except for delaware and that unnamed woman, theyre all platonic, you probably can guess what they are
Series: CountryHumans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599724
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Trials and Tribulations

**Author's Note:**

> It starts out in the early 1600s, and moves into the 1700s quite rapidly.
> 
> also mentions of america and
> 
> CANADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“It’s cold,” Hampshire whined, pulling close to York. “Colder than at home.”

The ship swayed again, York nearly fell over like the small children and some of the women. His stomach lurched, but he didn’t dare throw up — not on the ship’s deck, anyways. The captain wouldn’t spare a glance at his sea sickness while he was made to clean the deck, instead focus more on his wife and children. Not the colony where he would be living, not the father of the colony, and definitely not any of the fights that the Carolinas would undoubtedly pick against Virginia. Not that Virginia couldn’t handle himself — he was worried more for the twins, if he was being honest.

“I know,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around his sister. “We’ll be fine, though. It’s colder in Scotland during the winter, is it not?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Uncle was not very happy about the chill, was he?”

York laughed. Uncle Scotland had been livid, that his nieces and nephews had to visit him during one of the coldest winters he’d had in the century. Sure, the siblings had been able to handle it, but this was when they still weren’t sure if they were mortal or not. Their father had even went out of his way to ask France for a few warm coats, at his own expense, of course. She had obliged, but covered the costs herself.

No doubt France would be angry when she found out that her children were gone, off to the New World as per the request of the new queen. Not that York didn’t want to explore, but the New World was a far leap from the Cliffs of Moher or Paris. That was new, just like the supposed lands where the vikings resided, and it was terrifying.

“No, he wasn’t very pleased, was he?” he responded to her, grinning. "This boat is making me sick."

"The ferry to Ireland doesn't, Amsterdam."

York sighed. "I suppose not, mm? And my name is York, Hampshire dearest."

"You're just jealous that the name was already taken," she pouted, to his amusement. "I prefer the name Amsterdam over York, if I do say so."

"Amsterdam sounded like a name of a river — maybe if it’s a place I’ll take it. If it’s beautiful and warm, and the land is fertile.” York frowned. “But for now, I’m York.”

“My favorite older brother,” she said, hugging him closer.

“And your only older brother,” he snorted.

Maybe he would change his name back to Amsterdam, if he found beautiful land that the mortals would deem it. It had a nice ring to it, but he much preferred the shorter name of York — Amsterdam made him sound like a craggy man beyond his prime, similar to how Ireland made his uncle sound like a godless man with many farms, slaves, and full of ire, when in reality the man was firmy catholic, quite soft to even his lowerclassmen, and could easily be mistaken for queer by many people.

Well, he wasn’t sure if the man actually  _ was  _ queer, but it wouldn’t change anything between his uncle and him, even  _ if  _ that was what Father had disowned him for.

The Mayflower was a large ship, with perhaps dozens of mortals aboard, all trying to reach the New World. The Pilgrims, as Father had deemed them, were mortals within their prime or younger, and a few old, wise men. Most of the people onboard had been poor, hoping that the New World would provide prosperity, as far as he had gathered from the families he had spoken to.

“Brother, your stomach is rumbling terribly. Are you well?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “It is just some seasickness, nothing that a bucket of ale can’t fix.”

“Now don’t go off getting drunk!” Hampshire laughed. “The captain will have you do many things, such as arranging locations and settlements and the like, and you need to be sober.”

“Well then, I shall try to remain in the best of my mind while I am currently as intoxicated by this sickness as I am by alcohol.” York’s stomach lurched again, and he shoved his sister to the side and leaned over the side of the deck. She stepped back a meter, placing her hand on his back and patting as he dry heaved.

“Brother, are you sure you are alright?”

It was a few moments after the heaving that she asked him this question, and thankfully she did because otherwise he wouldn’t have heard her. The cool sea air washed over his face and the soft scent of ocean filled his nostrils, but the constant rocking of the boat negated the pleasure from both. They still had many weeks ahead of them, from what he’d gathered by the previous sailors.

“No,” he whispered. “I need to go down. Some rest would do wonders for me."

Hampshire nodded, and for a moment York could almost see the concern in her eyes. "You are always tired," she said, smiling. She grasped his arm, moving to the stairs that lead underdeck. "I wonder why."

"To the mortals, I'm roughly a century old," he whispered. "I'm an old man!"

"Not to us, you aren't."

The two walked down the stairs, going to a separated portion of the ship that was designated for the siblings. At least the captain had been kind enough to allow them that one luxury, and even then it was strained. Elizabeth had ordered that the fathers and mothers of the colonies should possess their own space from the peasantry, but they weren’t treated much better.

_ “Captain Jones,” York said, holding out his hand. “I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance.” _

_ “Well met, Mr. Amsterdam.” The captain took it in his, giving it a hard shake before letting go. “I’ve heard a lot about you, particularly from her highness. Great things, of course.” _

_ “I’m quite glad to hear,” he smiled. “I’ve also heard great things about you, as well, though it is more from the peasantry than it was her highness.” _

_ Jones laughed, a loud, jolly sound which made York smile, happy to be able to humour the man. Christopher Jones Jr. was generally known as a harsh man, who had a soft spot for his wife and children, for what good husband did not? He would be the man to sail the Mayflower across the sea, all the way over to the New World, preferably without capsizing or ramming into the sister ship that would be sailing next to them. _

He laid down on his cot, breathing out a sigh as he rested his head against the folded coat that served as his pillow. It was softer than he would’ve originally guessed, with barely a hint of a button and buckle poking into his head and neck.

Things would be better when he was finally off this damned boat.

* * *

He was wrong.

As usual, York had accidentally overstepped in his assumptions. He would always calculate a little bit too far, and as such was usually wrong when it came to probabilities, as he was a tad more on the optimistic side than realistic. He’d thought that once he was rid of the seasickness and was able to think with a clear and rational mind, everything would be better. The New World was full of opportunities, and opportunities meant chances, and chances had the likelihood of being great.

Yes, he had overstepped.

It had barely even been a year at this point, and many people from all the colonies had been freezing to death, suffering from starvation, and even falling prey to some kind of harsh disease which seemed to be affecting both them and the natives. Not a great thing, not in the first year.

Surprisingly enough, York was not in any pain. Sure, he was unable to sleep at night because the whimpers of pain, growling of empty stomachs, and the wheezing breaths of the sick were constantly filling his ears, making him yearn for the warm season to come faster.

“Are you not cold?”

A boy, perhaps a score of age, was talking to him, tugging on his coat sleeve. He had a coat wrapped around him, but he didn’t appear to be shivering either. Or sick, like most of the other natives did, as a matter of fact.

He was a young boy, and York could see no reason to lie to a child.

“No, I am not,” he replied. “Are you?”

“No,” the boy said. “I am not either.”

So the boy wasn’t a regular native, and that was for sure. Long black hair, which wasn’t held back by anything, with what looked to be fur clothing. There was a small knife attached to his belt, made of rocks and grass.

“I’m Amsterdam,” he said. “Jakob Amsterdam.”

“I am Twin-Boy, of the Squanto,” Twin-Boy responded.

“Well, Twin-Boy,” York said, smiling. “It is my pleasure to meet you.”

* * *

The days turned into weeks, the weeks turned into months, months turned to years, and years to decades. So much time had passed, yet it seemed like a blink of an eye to him. York remembered that decades ago the days seemed to go by so slow, and it eventually increased in pace, until a month was like a day to him, and a year was like a week. Twin-Boy had become a strong man, and York was right to assume the child was an immortal when they met. However, he was now gone, for the tribe had been wiped out, much to his sadness. Disease and the pilgrims themselves had led to the death of them, and York could feel nothing but guilt for the death of the still young immortal.

Still, he kept going, keeping his positive facade up, pretending like everything was fine when really he knew it wasn’t. More and more people had moved to the New World, which they now deemed “British America” (much to some of his siblings annoyance), when really the majority of the population wasn’t even English. Sure, the colonies were, for they were the children of France and Britain, and they had retained most of the things they knew (traditions, skills, habits) from their father.

York knew he hadn’t felt anything much in his life, except for when a great war broke out. Virginia had been foolish enough to not warn Colonial Washington of the chaos which would ensue if they did more than just capture the forts which had been built on the shared territory. If Virginia would’ve been able to feel it, York would’ve hit him with the blunt end of a tomahawk, just to let him know how it felt, but alas, the only two of the siblings who could feel the pain of the outside world were the Carolinas.

Quite upsetting, really.

Though some things had happened, the most prominent being that Delaware managed to get a woman pregnant.

_ “What in the name of the lord were you thinking?” Jersey practically screamed, startling York. He’d burst through the door like the ground had opened and Satan himself were crawling out, and sounded just about as panicked as if that were the case. _

_ “What do you mean, Lawless?” Delaware asked, barely even peeking over the pamphlet in hand. “The fact that I, the lame one, was able to seduce a woman?” _

_ “YEs-” Jersey’s voice cracked. “You didn’t bother to think of the consequences before you defiled her, did you?” _

_ “Lord be with you, Jersey,” Delaware said. He’d set down his pamphlet. “You haven’t been this angry since Mass-” _

_ “THIS IS NOTHING LIKE MASS!” Jersey screamed for real this time. He heard some of the voices in the tavern below quiet, as if they were listening to the conversation above. “I can’t believe — Are you as lame in the head as you are in the leg?” _

_ “I graduated from Oxford in two years, I’ll have you know-” _

_ “Pardon me for intruding, but what is this about?” York cut in, before the two of them could continue. “Don’t tell me you barged into this room like a horse was to bite your head simply for the sake of incessant bickering, because I will not have it.” _

_ Delaware huffed, and Jersey’s eyes looked even more infuriating than before. Now his nostrils were flaring, sweat soaking into the front of his jacket and his hands shaking. “It’s not just incessant bickering-” _

_ “It’s not important; it’s not like it matters, does it?” _

_ “I’d wager that’s what you said right before you fucked her, right?” _

_ York sighed, taking a sip of his tea before speaking. “I see no problem with us having intercorse, after all we cannot be expected to remain untouched by the hands of adultery for all of eternity, can we?” _

_ “York is being sensible, Lawless. Which is much more than you will ever be.” _

_ “ _ She is pregnant _ , Lame Leg! Pregnant!” _

_ The room was silent, and York nearly dropped his tea. _

_ Sure, immortals  _ could _ , in theory, get mortals pregnant, as the original immortals had come from mortal parents. Immortals could deflower and impregnate other immortals, as was the example of the colonies, but that was with different consequences, because often enough immortals couldn’t conceive correctly, or the baby turned out to be mortal and died in the womb. _

_ The fact that she was a mortal pregnant with what could turn out to be an immortal baby was troubling. _

_ “Delaware, what have you done?” _

Yes, that had given them a good scare, especially when the baby came out as anything but normal. Silver eyes, with tan cheeks which didn’t match their mother or their father’s, and bright, blonde hair. He wasn’t very large, weighing little more than a small pumpkin, but that was okay. As long as it didn’t turn out to be an immortal then everything would be fine.

It was barely even a decade later when disaster struck once more. Britain had won the Great War, and had, in result, adopted one of France’s other children, Canada, much to the colonies amusement. They liked him.

And now here they were.

“Dad’s forcing us to buy tea,” Delaware said. “And it’s costing us a fortune.”

“The stamp tax!” North Carolina called, slamming her fist against the table. “It’s costing about as much as the tea alone!”

“The shipment price has gone up,” Virginia said. “I can’t even sell tobacco without there being at least a fourth of it which goes to the tax.”

“Glass is especially expensive,” Hampshire jumped in. “Father keeps sending it without reason, and taxing us for it.”

“I’m tired of it-” Jersey spat. “I get that he’s a terrible father, but this is insane.”

The siblings kept talking, while York stayed calm in his seat, simply listening. The affairs of his siblings and their father was nothing of his problem, yet it was also  _ only  _ his problem. As the eldest sibling, he would be forced to make the final decision, and that was a decision he didn’t want to deal with because it meant getting on Father’s bad side. And that was the one thing he didn’t want.

“It’s been awhile since York has spoken,” Georgia interrupted South Carolina just as he began to rant about the church and the expense of dying rites. “What do you say?”

York sipped his tea once more. It was getting cold. “I say we make an agreement with Father. He stops shipping pointless items to us, and allows us to buy sugar from Spain, and in response we pay a slightly higher tax.”

“Now wait a moment-” Hampshire was trying, he’d give her that, but she definitely wasn’t going to be enough to hold back the rage of the youngest two.

“What do you mean,  _ wait a moment _ ?”

“York, have you lost your mind?”

“All we’ve been paying is higher taxes!”

“We’ve already tried to boycott!”

“We don’t have any representatives in the congress,” Virginia stopped the rest of the siblings from jumping in and adding on. “Perhaps we should change that?”

“Father won’t allow it,” Massachusets said. “I say we take higher action against them?”

Everyone, including York, agreed with that. While he could tolerate higher taxes, he would not stand and be trampled by the British folk. Great Britain ruled with an already iron fist, and the laws that George was enforcing were just a mess. He hoped Father was not onboard with these ideas, though he likely was.

“Well then, what say you, Mass?” York said. “Do we simply avoid our taxes and wait until Father notices?”

“Do we try to force their troops out of our homes?” Hampshire asked.

“Do we simply sell our crops within our own borders?” Virginia questioned. “Because I can do that. That Jefferson fellow has a well off plantation and can be a great provider, given that he doesn’t speak of my secrets.”

“Do  _ not _ tell that rich man about you or us.” One of the Carolinas said it, but York couldn’t bother to figure out which. Did it matter, because their colonies were very similar?

“I say we continue the boycotting, and actively resist him. I’m sure Uncle Ireland would love to help, seeing as so many of his people are moving here.” Massachusetts said. “If nothing like that works, we take drastic measures. Send the tea back, send people over to represent us — Benjamin Franklin would be a perfect candidate — and if nothing else works, then I don’t know.”

“I do,” Delaware stood, gripping his chair. His leg was incredibly wobbly on this particular day, much to York’s concern, though the youngest sibling could handle himself, could he not? “I know what to do. Lawless and I have been discussing it over these months.”

The room was silent. North and South were fidgeting, the table noticeably bouncing to one of their legs. Virginia was chewing on a finger of tobacco, looking at Delaware with interest evident. Hampshire was pulled close to York, grasping his bicep in concern. Georgia was looking at her fingers, and York knew she was going to start chewing soon enough. Massachusetts had his arms crossed, leaning on his chair with his elbows on the back. Jersey was smiling at Rhode, who apparently also seemed to know what they had been discussing.

Weird, how they never filled the first child about what was happening until after the fact.

Rhode stood, and made his way over to his younger brother. The eldest of the siblings thought they were going to fight on what they had said, but then the older of the two smiled and put his hand on Delaware’s shoulder.

“It’s quite rather simple, really.”

“Just spit it out already, Lawless,” Virginia called. “We can’t just sit here all day and wait for you to say something incredibly predictable yet somehow surprising then leave.”

“Alright, alright,” Jersey said, sighing. “Rhode, would you like to do the honors?”

Rhode grinned, wide and full of malicious intent.

“We go to war.”


	2. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What about mother?”
> 
> England hesitated, his cup shaking in his hand for a few moments, before he calmed, the blue which had begun to slide down his face receding as quickly it came. Canada wondered what his flag would look like, when he fully developed.
> 
> “She won’t be coming back,” he finally said, his voice filled with sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here we are:  
> Scot: Almost a redhead, but more brunette. Thicc accent and adores strange creatures (he claims to have seen a unicorn once, but nobody's really sure about that, though the Loch Ness monster /is/ real)  
> Fran: Hair color depends on what year you're in, because she changes it in order to pretend that she's a new queen every time around. She's fallen for most of the UK siblings, apart from Wales (at this point) and North (she just doesn't like her), and she speaks the language of romance and has seduced a lot of people.  
> Wales: Wales is a brunette, and she's constantly soaked for a lot of reasons. She vomits up water often, and is England's favorite sibling out of all of them. She's also a bad ass if you piss her off enough, but nobody's really gotten to that point apart from the Romans.  
> Eng: Blonde, and is kinda blind in his left eye (hence the monocle), but still pretends that he's higher than everyone else. He acts as the main face of the British Isles, because he's the most recognized of them (though Scotland is right behind) and has an intense hunger for power (until he loses all of it, which happened quite rapidly).  
> Ire: Redheaded Irish giant. He's England's least favorite sibling, for a vast amount of reasons, and he returns the feelings to England quite often. He drinks reasonably (until he becomes independent, where he becomes the country that is known for its drunkard people and is recognized as one of the best drinking buddies around.)
> 
> The Colonies:  
> York: Looks just like England, apart from his hair, which is brown. He's the oldest sibling, and he's the guy who runs a lot of the business.  
> Hamp: She's almost identical to France, but she talks just like England. She follows in York's footsteps, for the most part.  
> Mary: She's the only sibling who is a redhead, with an accent not much different that Ireland's, for what reason nobody knows. She's the quietest of the siblings, preferring to just listen and only put her input in when someone asks (which, for the most part, they don't.)  
> N. & S. Carolina: The only set of twin immortals born (apart from the Dakotas and Irelands, which aren't actually twins) and look exactly the same, apart from the fact that one is a boy and one is a girl. When they were younger, they asked Ireland and Scotland to keep them as children forever so that they wouldn't have to take up responsibilities.  
> Rhode: He's a loud idiot who looks like York, but with less purpose. He and Jersey get into all sorts of trouble, and every time they do they always get smacked by England, the other 11 siblings give them a weird look, Wales will stop England from doing much more than a slap or two, then Scotland and Ireland will always give them a reward on their way to their rooms.  
> Virginia: A bald, tan man with sunburn on the back of his neck from working on his tobacco farms. He always has a piece of wheat in his mouth, unless he really is pissed, then he chews the whole thing up and swallows it, and is often times yelling at the Carolina twins for something.  
> Georgia: She's like Wales, always wet and vomiting up water, but she is also really dirty all the time. She acts like a man, and even dresses like one, but the fact that the boggy water that slides from her skin all the time soaks into her clothes its painfully obvious that she's a woman. She backs York up often.  
> Con: His face resembles neither of his parents' or siblings, mostly because of the burns, boils, and blisters which cover it from working with molten steel. He often backs up York as well, but if he really feels like it he'll follow Jersey and Rhode.  
> Jersey: The troublemaker. He's always got soot in his hair, and he always does something that makes someone mad. He doesn't have the best attitude towards the other colonies or states, and as such is referred to as either "Grumpy" or "Lawless" (the other is a reference to the surprising amount of duels which take place in his land, and how it wasn't illegal until far later).  
> Mass: He may be the most rebellious of the siblings, actually. He looks like France in a sort of way which throws England out of the picture. He's got a birthmark on the far left of his forehead, shaped like Maine, and is quite rebellious.  
> Pen: Huge sports fan, not going to lie. She has the same form as France, but the rest is English. She fought for weeks with York about the capitol, before Hamilton, Madison, and Jefferson made the decision for both of them.  
> Del: The youngest sibling. He's England's boy, that's for sure, but he has a lame leg, which looks as if it were put into a blender then spat out back onto his body, and is so twisted it's unsightly. Despite this, he managed to get a woman pregnant with his son, America.
> 
> sorry for long beginning notes: there wasn't enough room at the bottom for this and the other description that's coming (sorry and ouch).

Canada was a quiet boy, always apologizing for things that he was told he shouldn’t be apologizing for, like being nervous around strangers or when people bumped  _ into _ him. He was timid, and stayed close to home; the small house in the forest where Father stayed, with the fireplace that was never lit; the farm where Ireland, his second father, spent his days farming, with the O’Dwyers and O’Neills coming over every so often; the castle where Mother lived with her husband, with the servants and polite girls and boys who would always play with him. Home was near the place his parents were — if they weren’t there, it wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t home.

This wasn’t home.

He remembered Mother’s crying face as Uncle England took him away, as Father had practically done everything but begged for him to be allowed to stay with Mother or Father, or even his Irish Father across the sea. England had shook his head, had disapproved, had stated that he’d won the land in a fair war, and that Canada wasn’t France’s anymore. He remembered his screaming, Ireland had gotten on a ferry to arrange things with England, perhaps having the boy stay with him near the cliffs, where he could be near his older parents.

This shack wasn’t home for Canada.

It was old and empty, with paintings of what seemed to have been a family. He recognized Mother’s face in a couple of them, as well as Aunt Wales’ and Father’s. None of Ireland, whose existence seemed to be ignored by England unless he was at his doorstep causing a commotion.

The house was small, not fit for the thirteen kids that England had had with Mother, his half siblings, or even two people. It was small enough for a fireplace and bed, with a table and some crates with tea packets inside of them to be in the entire house, with a small sitting room. The largest room was dedicated to a study, an ornate area where England spent most of his time reading and writing letters under the name James.

Canada didn’t have much to do around here.

Sure, there was the river, but England refused to let him go outside in his clothing, for all he had were his nice garments at the start. There was no excuse now, as he was often in his sibling’s old clothes which fit him. England just seemed to be picky.

“When can I see Father again? Or Papa?” Canada asked him once, when the two of them were sitting at the table, sipping at some kind of tea that he wasn’t particularly fond of. It was dark, and he’d already put in three lumps. Any more and England would tell him he was going to be fat if he did that much every day.

England sipped his tea before he spoke, swallowing slowly and clearly savoring the bitter tea. “Scotland won’t be for a few more moons, and Ireland depends entirely on himself for transport, an unworthy source if you ask me.” He talked as if it was an adult instead of a child. Canada didn’t like it. So formal.

“What about mother?”

England hesitated, his cup shaking in his hand for a few moments, before he calmed, the blue which had begun to slide down his face receding as quickly it came. Canada wondered what his flag would look like, when he fully developed.

“She won’t be coming back,” he finally said, his voice filled with sorrow. “She is staying in her own country — after all I’ve done I doubt she would like to come and see my face, even if it's just to see yours.”

Canada was confused, but he didn’t ask, because England kept talking, his voice dripping with memories that the child didn’t have, that he didn’t understand, because he never knew what anything other than familial love, and didn’t understand mariage. He didn’t understand what England said when he referred to her “pride and joy”, or “the fruit of his labours”, for his Mother had not forced him to learn quickly as England was trying to. She had let him play, and had taught him English along the way.

“She was greatly grieved for the loss of the colonies, for they were her only children, and were her pride and joy for the years that she was with me still. She taught them as much as she could in her visits, and would always spend so much time with Scotland and I. He wanted to form a harem; Fran was willing, while I was not. I did not, so he left, and she stayed with me. When the colonies left, she left, and didn’t come back for many years, perhaps the most lonely portion of my eternal life, before I was assigned the role of advising my king of them.

“Their place was already above mine, an extent which still baffles me, for I am their father and they are my children, as France is still above her children. Ireland refused to assist me with finding her for advice, the bastard, stating that I didn’t deserve her advice after what I had done. The fruit of my labours was completely wasted upon them, yet I loved them and I still shall, even if I am forced to go to war.”   


War was a word that Canada understood. He knew that was what he was, a spoil of war, a child who would never see his mother again because the winning side had wanted him in exchange for their victory, because he was territory.  _ Just  _ territory. England kept speaking, but he didn’t listen, for it didn’t matter. What would it matter if he listened to the man who was taking care of him, who was babbling nonsense to a child?  
  


Canada was awoken from his rest by a soft shake on his shoulder. He’d been sleeping near the fireplace, in the sitting room, for quite some time now, because he didn’t want to disturb England with his constant tossing and turning. He’d grown scared of the man; the way the red and white poured down his face when he was truly angry, how he grew taller by a few units, how his voice became even more British than before.

“Can’,” an Irish voice whispered. He opened his eyes slowly, taking a few moments to register the bearded redhead who was kneeling next to him. Bright blue eyes, with pale skin and thousands of freckles dotting his face, in a large green coat which was folded to avoid making sound.

Canada didn’t recognize him until his eyes caught on the four leafed shamrock which was tucked into his hair.

“Papa?” he asked, to which the other smiled. Ireland, it was Ireland. He’d come to take him away from England, back home, to Mother and Father, back to confirmed safety. “Papa, what are you doing here?”

“I came to visit ye, of course,” the Irishman said, grinning. “Come along, I have a ship just down the river, where we can reach the sea by daybreak. We’ll be in my land by the time Sasana realizes you are gone.”

Canada nodded, tossing the rags that he’d covered himself with off. He’d made it a habit to be dressed for the day when he slept, so he was ready to go once he stood. Ireland led him outside, farther out from England’s property, and a little ways just down the river until they came across a dinghy, which would get them down the river quickly and quietly.

“Aye,  Seán,” the man in the boat, who Canada recognized immediately, said to Ireland, grinning. “Ay t’ere, Nick.”

Canada rushed towards his father, grasping onto his legs in a firm hug. He wasn’t tall enough to get his arms around his middle, since the man was fairly tall, but that didn’t matter, because his father was here, in England’s land, taking him away from England. He was heading home, and if it weren't to Mother than at least it was with his fathers.

“Daddy!” Canada cried, holding on. Father lifted him up into his arms and held him close, talking to Ireland in Gaelic that he couldn’t understand. Some kind of ancient form of it, perhaps, for the two of them had been speaking it long before even France was born; something their Celtic mother had taught them.

The three of them climbed in the boat, Father rowing and Ireland keeping Canada entertained for the first half of the ride. It was a nice ride, one where Canada got to see the beauty of the lands from afar and the cities from a different perspective, one where he realized that he was free from England and his intense rules.

He also realized that his fathers were likely going to get in some kind of fight with England, one where the two of them would team up and barely be able to do anything against the eldest strength of the British Isles.

"What happens when he finds that I am gone?" Canada asked, turning to his fathers from the ship side. The two of them seemed to have worked something out, because they both nodded before Father switched with Ireland for the position of keeping him entertained. "What will England do?"

"E'll do notin'," Father said, smiling. "By ta tyme e realizes yer gone we'll be in Are's land."

"An' we bot' know that he ain't crossin'," Ireland grinned, pitching in. He put on a terrible British accent which made Canada giggle. "'Not to set foot on yer  _ filty  _ soil'."

"Did 'e rally say tat, or wa' tat someting Ai 'eard?"

"He said it," Ireland growled. "He said it, the bastar, said it."

" _ Sassanach. _ "

"Aye."

Canada didn’t understand much of it, but he knew that England thought there was something wrong with his other father's home, with its beautiful green hills and perfect cliffsides. There was nothing wrong, to Canada.

They reached land by sunrise, greeted by the O'Dwyers and a couple others. Michael and Liam O'Dwyer were the ones to greet them first, saying hello to the Scottish man and Irishman, before shaking hands with Canada. It was nice, to be treated like a child but like an older child, more of his maturity than England did. 

They headed up the country after the greetings, Father’s ride having already been brought across the sea, or, more like, went  _ through  _ the sea. Nessie was bigger than before, tall and grey with a long neck and short legs. She grinned as he called her, padding her way over on her flippers, which could crush Canada if she stepped on him.

“Nessie!” Canada said, grinning. He hugged her large leg, glad to see the strange and large creature in someplace familiar, instead of outside of his bounds and hundreds of miles away. The large, almost dinosaur-like, creature barked happily, the long tail behind her nearly hitting the people gathered around. The Scotsmen were used to the so called Loch Ness Monster, so really it was the Irish who were gathered around the creature in awe.

“I tought we were goin across on a ship?”

“Ai tought ye would know Ai wa’ brinin Nessie. It’d be faster, eh?”

“Yeh.”

Canada turned to his fathers, confused by what they were saying. The two had a serious look on their faces as they talked, once again in Gaelic, about something. He caught hints of his name a few times, as well as mentions of “Americans” or just “America” in general, the New World, as far as he knew. “Where are we going?”

It was a few moments before he got a response, but after seeing his eyes Father sighed and told him. “We’re heading to your land, lad,” he said.

“Land?” Having his own land was a privilege, as far as he was able to tell. Ireland had spent days and weeks discussing with England on the matters of his own land, his own island, separate from the English’s. Land meant you were powerful, and the more you had the better.

Maybe that was why England had taken him - he was land.

“Yes,” Ireland said. He didn’t seem to be happy about it either, for some reason. “Yer own land, far, far away from where Sasana can reach.”

“How far?”

The two hesitated, a look of concern over their eyes before they both sighed once more.

“Brit’ America, far,” Father said. “So far that it would take Sassanach weeks to get tare, and when ‘e did ‘e would take more weeks to find yeh, because it’s large. ‘E wouldn’t be able to affect yeh there - at lest, not as greatly as yeh ar hare.”

“And, if ye somehow meet im there, yer siblings’ll sort im out,” Ireland continued. “And when e comes back cryin, I’ll have a word with im.”

“A nice, long ward, ere we’ll maek sare e doesn’t come back fer a while.”

Canada liked the sound of that.  
  


Canada had fallen asleep at some point in the ride, apparently over the middle of the sea, in Father’s arms, long after the sun had set and Ireland had given him some potatoes to munch on (really, he had to find out how the man managed to find all those great ones) and Father began singing a lullaby. Nessie had slowed down enough for him to fall asleep.

Ireland had gently shook him, having apparently been handed the boy so that Father could sleep. By now, they were coming across some small islands, and in the very far distance Canada could make out a large mass of land. Perhaps British America?

“Papa?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?”

“We’re near America,” Ireland replied. “Yer Fater’s takin a nahp.”

True to his word, Father was asleep, resting gently on Nessie’s neck. Compared to her, he was quite small, just like everyone was. Mother had been the same height as Father, and Ireland was only a little taller than them, though people often mistaken him for being shorter because of the way he slouched, as if he were holding something heavy on his back.

England looked almost weightless, as did Aunt Wales.

“I miss my mother,” Canada said, sighing.

“I know,” Ireland replied softly. “Yer Fater does, Cymru does, I do - ell, even Sasana misses ‘er. Bu’ don’ worry, because when we get ye to America ye’ll be able to see er, once we get tis whole ting figured out.”

“What thing?  _ He  _ misses her?” he questioned. “Is that why you look so tired? Because you miss Mama?”

Ireland huffed out a laugh, which Canada knew meant he was happy. “I’m not tired for the same reasons as ye could understand, at this point.” He sighed, before his eyes looked over the sea. “I know a man who has the same problems - in fact, I know quite the few.”

“Who are they?” Canada asked. “Do I know them?”

He shook his head. So it wasn’t England, but someone else? He knew Mother, and Father, and he’d talked to Amsterdam (to be honest, he preferred the name York much over  _ that _ ) and Hampshire before, when they’d come to visit England a while back-

“How long was I with England for, Papa?” Canada questioned, putting that at the top priority. “How long ago was it?”

Ireland looked at him sadly. “Years,” he said. “Yer fater and I spent years tryin to get em to let us see ye. Fran was so heartbroken - she just. . . left. She disappeared. I send letters ta her and she only responds once every blue moon. Scot and I can’t get a ferry ta her land — Cymru’s been in the flood season for who knows how long, and Sasana doesn’t care.” he sighed again.

“Tere’s a man named Russia — tall man, with a big beard. Very tall. E’s a northerner — no, not a Viking, tat’s Narway and Sweden - who lives way East. I’ve only met him a few times, and ‘e’s a good man. Not perfect, but ‘e wants what’s best fer ‘is country, and I respect tat. E’s always tired — every time I’ve met ‘em ‘e looks like ‘e’s about ta drop dead from exhaustion.

“Germany is almost my identacle, down ta having a lot of spuds. ‘E doesn’t carry tem on is person, like me, but ‘e’s great. Able ta have a good laugh wit ‘em, sometin I can’t do with Sasana or yer fater, at least very often.

“Delaware is lame in te leg, but quite rather intelligent. He gradua’ed from Oxford wit honors and is well off because o is work. Sasana would ‘ave a hard time calculating te mats as quickly as ‘e does. Nice boy — I’m definitely goin ta visit em when we get ta America.”

“He sounds nice,” Canada said. “Is he one of my brothers?”

“Yeh,” Ireland replied. “Most of yer siblins act like yer mother, except York. Boy's been raised to be like is Fater — man o te house, who does everythin but cook and clean. Oh, and te housework."

"Did they have rules too, Papa?" Canada asked. He had so many questions and so little time for Ireland or Father to answer them. "Did England make them follow the same rules?"

"God, no," he said. "E made sure tose childran were always up an about, doin sometin wile 'e waited fer Fran to come back from 'cross the sea. Not that 'e couldn't ave gone across 'imself, bu' wen Fran came it was te only time Cymru would ever visit us."

"He wouldn't even let me see Aunt Wales," Canada said. "Why wouldn't he? Isn't she his favorite? And why not?"

"Oh, it wasn't Sasana. Cymru's always soaked. She always looks like she just took a dip in te canal, tell yeh tat. She's absolutely terrified of gettin is house wet, so she never shows up." he broke out into laughter. "She vomited water on Sasana once — e freaked out and Adda was so upset she ran out of teh house and met Nessie for teh first time, when Scot was tryin ta intraduce her to us."

Canada liked the sound of that. Aunt Adda seemed like him - insecure and worried, but she sounded more terrified than he. At least he loved Nessie, because he'd heard that she was less than content around the Loch Ness monster, and didn't vomit water. Maybe he would, when he found his land.

The land was nearing rather quickly, end before he knew it Ireland reached over and smacked Father on the shoulder to awaken him. He coughed, spitting something which looked like tobacco out and into the ocean before he focused.

"Aye?" Father asked. "How long?"

"I've been awake all nigt, Albain," Ireland replied. "We've been waitin for ye ta wake so we can get ta lan fastar."

Father said something in Gaelic, which Ireland replied with mostly English. "That's cac and we bot know it."

Father barked out laugh, before making a small whistle noise and Nessie speeding up.

Canada liked it when they went fast.

  
  


They arrived on land maybe a score of minutes later, Scotland wasn't really keeping track of the time. All he knew was that Eire needed some rest and he wouldn't be getting any until they had both their son and the Americans taken care of. What a better way to do that then piss Sassanach off by stealing Canada back and running off to America to help the colonies.

Arriving at Boston harbor wasn't the hard part. It was trying to find the colonies which really made Scotland want to rip his hair out. They made no indication of who they were, though they would likely recognize Nessie and start cheering. Nobody else would know why, and it would probably make them look stupid, but it was the spell that he and Eire had worked so hard to cast to blame. Mortals couldn’t see Nessie, at least mortals who didn’t know him and Eire, which made up most of the population of Europe and America.

Speaking of, Canada was snuggled closely to him, holding Eire’s hand in a tight grip as they slid off is Nessie. To a normal mortal, it would look as if they had just gotten off of a horse.

Nessie made a keening sound, and Scotland nearly melted. “Ai’m sorry, lass, but yeh can’ come wit us. Ye’ll be safer back in me land.”

“‘Til Sasana finds out.” Eire said, frowning. “‘E’s goin ta come after us wit a bayonet, if we’re lucky.”

Surprisingly enough, the youngest of the British Isles boys was incredibly skilled in keeping his flag off of his face, even though Scotland knew he was nearly panicking. He looked at his hands for a moment, fighting the blue off his skin, before he sighed.

“How es yer flag doin?” He asked. The redhead shrugged, lifting some of the hair on his forehead up. There was a distinct amount of green and orange, but not enough to be noticeable. At least, if you weren’t looking. “Ai’m not doin so great eiter.”

“Sasana doesn’t even know where we are,” Eire replied. “Sometin don’t feel rigt.”

“It’s so. . . Tense.” Canada said. “Did I use the right word?”

“Yeh,” The Gaelic brothers said in usion. That was something they were good at — doing things together. It had always been like that; in fact, Wales was often in sync with them too. The only one that wasn’t was England.

“Ai knew Sassanach wa’ taxin tem too much,” Scotland said. “But Ai didn’ know it wa makin it tis bad.”

“Probebly becase yer Sasana’s favorite broter,” he replied. “Not te greatest place for anyone, even British folks.”

“It’ll change one we get tis figurud out," the elder finished. "In order ta do tat, tough, we need ta fin colonaes, yeh?"

Eire nodded in response. Finding them wouldn't be too hard, if they were lucky.

And they were, because not long after they had started walking they saw two young adults, one a boy and one a girl, dressed in the same attire being thrown out of a tavern just down the street from the docks. The man who had thrown them out was chewing on a piece of wheat, with a deep blue cap on.

The Carolinas and Virginia.

"You twos must be outta your  _ Goddamn _ minds if you think I won't pulverize you for spitting in my beer!” Virginia screamed, tobacco lining his teeth. "I don't care if one of you is a woman - nobody messes with my alcohol!"

"Then don't throw us out so often and we won't!" the girl, North, shouted. He was only able to tell the difference by her face, because they had everything else the same, down to the last hair.

“And don’t bother us all the time! Just because we look like children doesn’t mean we aren’t older than you!”

Scotland snickered, knowing what hey were talking about. The two had asked him and Eire, when they were younger, to keep them young forever, so they wouldn’t have to deal with being adults. It had taken the two a few years but they had finally figured out a spell and casted it on them.

Safe to say, he and Eire remembered the beating that they’d gotten from Wales, England,  _ and _ France, and they both felt that it was worth it.

“Why you little-”

“Uncle Sean!” They shouted, upon seeing them. “Uncle Alistair!”

“Huh?” Virginia asked incredulously, before he noticed the two of them and laughed. “What a coincidence! We was just having us a pint!”

“Is this Virginia?” Canada asked, pointing to him. “He looks like a farmer.”

“Oh,” Eire said. “I’m sorry, ye four haven’t been properly intraduced.”

“George, Ryder and Ryan,” Scotland said. “This is Nicholaus. Nicholaus, tese are some o yer eldar broters. George, where’s Jersey?”

“You want Lawless?” Virginia asked. “You ought to be crazy. The idiot’s inside, yelling at Del. That declaration should’ve been signed by now.”

“Declaration?” Scotland asked. “Are yeh serious?”

“Yes!” The Carolinas shouted.

“I think we did a fine job,” North said, grinning.

“Quite spectacular, if I do say myself,” South continued.

“You two didn’t do a damn thing!” Virginia shouted. “You was watching us do all the hard work. Hell, Mary did more work than you twos did!”

“You take that back!”

“Aye, lads,” he turned toward North. “And lass,” he added. “Ye mean ta tell me wat?”

“We’re going for independence,” South began.

“Because Pa’s been taxin us for shit we don’t need,” North said.

“And because Jakob’s had enough with the taxes,” Virginia said. “I don’t know how you two can stand them.”

“Ah, Albain doesn’ get as much,” Eire said. “‘E’s Sasana’s favorite broter. I take te brunto o’ it.”

“Te taxes or screaming?”

“Both.”  
  


Canada didn’t understand much of what they were saying, so he stayed quiet, as usual. They were all sitting in the tavern, the locals not at all phased by the fact that there were sixteen people sitting around one table in the corner of the room, apart from their constant eyeing and moving away. He didn’t think it had anything to do with him, though.

“Uncles,” York greeted them first, tipping his hat in the same manner that England did. In fact, they almost looked identical — same face, same eyes, same build — but York had brown hair which resembled mother’s. “Nicholaus? Why by God it’s been years!”

“England wouldn’t let me out of the house,” Canada said.

“Dear Lord,” Hampshire said, hugging him. “It has been forever since I have seen you, and it turns out that you were with Father all along?” She sighed. “How was mother doing?”

“She was sad,” he said. “Extremely sad. England made her sad.”

“I’d wager,” A brunette woman said, with a thin frame who looked like she hadn’t bathed in weeks. She looked more like Aunt Wales than anyone, which made him wonder. “When we first left she was grief stricken so badly that she didn’t come back to Father’s land for scores of years — she’s likely still recovering from our departure, let alone yours. I’m Georgia, by the way.”

Canada turned towards Ireland and Father. Ireland was deep in conversation with a brunette boy, whose face was covered in boils and blisters from who knows what. Father, on the other hand, was staring into his beer, not really doing much but looking around the table every once in a while. He grabbed his pant leg, pulling lightly.

Father picked him up, walking him outside with him. The two of them sat down on the steps of the tavern, which was empty at this point, apart from the siblings and Ireland. “Ai know it might nat make sense ta ye rigt now, but trus’ me when Ai say tat this’ll make more sense later.” He puts a finger of tobacco in his mouth. “This whole independance ting is e’eryone’s dream, at some point.”

“Is that bad?”

Father scoffed. “Bad? Fer te man yer goin against, ye, but fer yeh it’s probably teh gratest ting tat could appen ta yeh. Eire wants et back, an so do Ai.”

“Why did England take it from you?” Canada asked. “Doesn’t he love you? He’s your brother.”

Father sighed, looking as if he were trying to find the words. “‘E— Ai— Eire would be better at explainin tis. Inglaterra doesn’t ‘ate us — Ai know ‘e loves us more tan anyting, ‘e. . . ‘e’s just bad at tellin us tat. Really bad.”

“Papa said that England still loves Mother,” Canada said. “And England told me that too. So why can’t he say that he loves you and Papa?”

Father looked to the sky, chewing his tobacco for a few moments with no response. Canada began to worry that he’d said something wrong, like he had with Mother’s husband once. Luckily Mother had been there, otherwise he would’ve been beaten more than he actually was. But he knew Father would never hurt him, not intentionally.

“Because ‘e’s our broter. It’s not easy to say how we feel to each other, so we show it. ‘E took it away because ‘e tinks ‘e’s ‘elpin us.” Father finally said. “‘E’s tryin ta protact us, Ai guess. ‘E doesn’t want us leavin.”

_ Doesn’t want them leaving? What does that mean? _

“What does that mean?”

Father ran his hand through his hair. “Yeh wouldn’t understant— not yet, anywaes.”

  
  


Two months later — Ceanada had been so proud of making that calendar for him that he couldn’t help but use it — Ireland stood with a tomahawk in one hand, readying for what they were about to do. Not that he was worried about getting caught or anything; Sasana would stick a bayonet in his stomach, Albain would go and get a pint with him afterwards, then France would have a firm conversation with Sasana before An Bhreatain Bheag came up the country just so that she could beat all of them into a fine dust. Not like it hadn’t happened before.

He was more worried about what measures Sasana would go to to keep his children in check.

They all acted as if they didn’t know each other, speaking in their native tongues to confuse the British. They would be heading out soon, led by Massachusetts and Connecticut. Connecticut had required more than just a layer of mud, to cover the boils and blisters which would give away that he was a metalworker not an Indian, while Massachusetts and him had put multiple layers of mud in their hair to hide the red and blonde messes they were.

“Ye ready?” Albain asked him. To Ireland, the Scot looked ridiculous, splashes of mud all over his torso and pants. He was holding his tomahawk lazily, as if they weren’t about to go make Sasana piss himself.

“‘Ell ye,” Ireland responded, grinning. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok lemme explain for all yall who are confuzzled (everyone)
> 
> ireland and scotland are the secondary founding countries of canada, same with america, if you didnt notice, but it was originally founded by the french before england took it over. as a result, ive made it so that scotland is recognized as canada's father, whilst ireland is recognized as his other father and france is the global mother. in the time while the colonies left, france went and hung out with the other uk siblings, and managed to get pregnate with both scotland and ireland's baby (don't ask how that happened) and canada came out. and, since this was ireland and scotland, wales was all like "oh my god i have another nephew can he please see his aunt this time around?" and france was like "hell yes ur family"
> 
> and of course the uk bros have magic — all of the countries do, its just different from person to person
> 
> also ireland and scotland's conversations were a bitch to write dear god help me

**Author's Note:**

> ireland wants in on some of that revolution, boys


End file.
